


An Interest in Elven... Culture

by MaverikLoki



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Earthquakes, Elves, Humor, M/M, Multiple Hawkes, OCD!Hawke, Purple!Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3971134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverikLoki/pseuds/MaverikLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Artemis Hawke meets a gorgeous Tevinter elf and doesn't know what to do with his tongue. Or his hands. Or his everything.</p>
<p>* * *<br/><i></i><br/><i><br/>Artie let out a groan that only sounded pained. The lyrium felt good, good enough that his body seemed to confuse good touch with bad. And this was definitely bad touch. Strangling was bad touch (usually), no matter how handsome the elf was who was doing the strangling.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>And said handsome elf was breathing raggedly and looking at him like he didn't see him, like he was looking past him. "Mage ."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/gifts).



> A prequel to Rhapsody, so there are three Hawkes, all purple.
> 
> Okay, so I swear this started out as a goofy thing where Artie keeps striking out with elves, but it... sort of evolved into 'how Fenris became part of the group' instead. Because naturally I can't just write a short, silly piece and leave it. Ever. *SIGH*

 

Artemis was tired and bruised by the time he finally lowered his staff, the muscles in his arms shaky. First lyrium smugglers, now slavers. A year with Athenril, and Artemis thought they were done with all that. He stepped over the fresh corpses to stand next to his brother, his staff still humming with magic. 

"'Come on, Artie'," he muttered. "'It'll be fun, Artie'. Clearly you and I need to discuss your definition of the word 'fun', Anton."

"And clearly I need to talk to Anso about the definition of the word 'cargo'," Anton muttered, still sore over the empty chest they'd found, the empty chest that had lured them out here under the pretences of not being empty. He sniffed. "A waste of my more singular talents."

"No one wants to know about your 'singular talents', Stabby."

Anton threw Varric a rude gesture and a smirk.

"Everyone intact?" Aveline asked, looking around. Artemis nodded, Anton grinned, and Varric gave him a thumbs up. "Good."

The alienage looked deserted. Deserted except for the fresh pile of bodies, that is. He wondered if the elves usually locked themselves in at night or if the presence of slavers had scared them indoors. Pale moonlight outlined the Vhenadahl in silver, and blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement as Artemis stepped over them, grimacing at the spatter of red on his sleeve. He picked at it with his thumbnail.

"Hanged Man?" Varric suggested, slinging Bianca back over his shoulder. "I could go for a pint, after that. Nothing makes me thirstier than knocking down a few slavers."

"I could go for a pint," Anton answered.

"Maker, yes," Artemis sighed. They were only a few streets over anyway.

Anton finished looting while Aveline pretended not to notice, and clomped up the stairs and out of the Alienage. A shadow blocked their path. "I don't know who you are, friend," said the shadow, "but you've made a serious mistake coming here." He stepped into the moonlight, and Artemis groaned. Tonight was fast shifting from 'not fun' to 'disaster'.

"Really? Another Tevinter?" he groused. "Is there some sort of a parade going on no one told me about?"

"Lieutenant!" the Tevinter soldier roared over his shoulder. "I want everyone in the clearing! Now!"

Aveline cursed under her breath, sword whipping from her sheath again. Behind him, Artemis heard Varric nocking Bianca. 

"I'm definitely going to need a pint after this." Artie reached for his magic, force building under his fingertips. "Or maybe some whiskey. Anton, you brought us into this. You're buying." He didn't see his brother slip into the shadows but knew he was there.

But there was no swarm of soldiers. There was just one soldier who staggered into view, blood seeping from his armour. "Captain..." he choked before falling over.

"Your men are dead," growled a voice that made Artemis stand at attention. "And your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can."

Another shadow appeared around the corner, this one slighter, his steps more graceful. Moonlight shone in white hair and along the odd tattoos running down the elf's chin, his long neck, the inside of his arms, all disappearing under tight, spiky leather.

"You're going nowhere, slave," growled the Tevinter, gloved hand landing heavily on one spiked shoulder. The elf spun, hands moving faster than Artemis's eyes could follow. Silver markings glowed blue, and the elf seemed to fade out of physicality. The air filled with the smell of ozone and lyrium, and Artemis heard the Tevinter's grunt of pain before he saw where the elf's hand had ended up... buried through the man's chest.

The man's eyes bugged, the light in them fading as he slipped off the elf's hand and to the ground. "I am not a slave," the elf growled. The glowing stopped, and his body became solid again.

He turned to face the Hawkes and their companions, and Artemis's grip tightened on his staff. 

"I apologise." The strange elf had a voice Artemis felt as well as heard. It shivered there, in the hollow of his bones. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so... numerous."

The elf's eyes were green. Artemis found himself tripping over his tongue trying to figure out what to say.

"So _you_ were responsible for this?" Anton asked when his brother kept staring instead of saying something useful.

Green eyes shifted from Artemis to Anton. "I'm the reason you're here, yes. My name is Fenris."

"Artemis." He finally found his tongue. Fenris's attention focused back on him. "My name, that is. I'm not just... throwing out random syllables." He laughed nervously. "Artemis Hawke. This is my brother Anton and our friends Varric and Aveline."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Aveline, Varric... Anton?" Fenris dipped his head at each of them. "And Artemis."

Artemis had never been fond of his name, but it sounded like a caress the way Fenris said it. 

Hmm. Maybe tonight wasn't such a disaster after all.

 

Or maybe it was.

The blood rushed to Artemis's head. There was a hand digging bruises into his neck and crushing his windpipe, metal claws stinging against skin. That hand _glowed_ , and Artemis shuddered, the taste of lyrium and the Fade thick in the air. 

Artie let out a groan that only sounded pained. The lyrium felt _good_ , good enough that his body seemed to confuse good touch with bad. And this was definitely bad touch. Strangling was bad touch (usually), no matter how handsome the elf was who was doing the strangling.

And said handsome elf was breathing raggedly and looking at him like he didn't see him, like he was looking past him. 

" _Mage_."

"Hey! Hands off my brother!" 

Through the black spots dotting his vision, Artemis saw a flash of metal, his brother's knife at Fenris's throat. Anton's eyes were flinty as he glared at the elf.

"He used magic on me," Fenris snapped, spine going rigid. But he blinked, eyes focusing on Artemis's face and looking like he was remembering where he was.

"Accident," Artie choked. He held his hands out, palm up. "Was aiming... for the demons... Sorry. Please... let go?" 

He was starting to feel lightheaded. He could push Fenris away, he knew, and easily. One force shove, and the elf's hand would be off of him. But that would probably make things worse.

Fenris blinked, looked at Anton, at Artemis, and let go. Air came flooding back into Artemis's lungs in ragged gasps, and Artie slumped against the wall, one hand massaging his throat. Anton glared a moment longer before lowering his knife.

Around them, the air was thick with demon ash, the remains of shades and the arcane horror Artemis had been aiming for. 

"I... apologise," Fenris said once Artemis had straightened. He stared at Artie's feet, hands clenched at his sides. His shoulders hunched slightly inward, like he was readying for a beating. "That was a poor way to repay your help. I felt... I didn't know you were a mage. Your magic hit me, and I reacted." 

Artemis had never heard someone fill one word with such vitriol. 'Mage'. Like he was something diseased.

"It's all right." Artie's voice came out a bit ragged. "I was trying to avoid hitting you, but I'm told my aim is terrible."

"It is," Anton agreed. "I used to win so much coin off of him playing horseshoes."

Fenris offered a hesitant smile in reply. "Hmm. Then perhaps it is for the best that you're not the one with the crossbow, mage." He cocked his head in Varric's direction without taking his eyes off the brothers. Behind Fenris, Varric finally lowered Bianca.

'Mage' again. Artemis sighed. 

"Hey, now I like Artie well enough," said Varric, "but not so much that I'd let him touch Bianca."

"But Varric," Artemis said, a hand on his chest as though deeply wounded, "I'd let you touch my staff!"

"I'll bet you would," Aveline muttered. Fenris raised his eyebrows and coughed into his fist.

"Right," the elf said. "I should... that is, I didn't find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt."

Artemis cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Tell you what," he said. "We were on our way to the Hanged Man when we ran into you. Buy us a drink, and we'll call it even."

"We will?" Anton muttered, and Artie shot him a look.

"It is not even," Fenris insisted. "Especially after I... But I will buy you that drink."

 

Afterwards, Artemis walked Fenris back to the ramshackle mansion, steps weaving. He pointed out Gamlen's home on the way through Lowtown ("No privacy, but at least there's a roof.") and the Amell Estate on the way through Hightown. 

"Mum grew up there," he said, nudging Fenris's arm and pointing. "Before she ran off with Dad. Slavers're using it now." Artemis considered force magicing a few rocks into the windows, but he'd probably miss and hit Fenris again. He settled for spitting in its direction, only to end up drooling on himself. "Oh. Ew." He wiped his chin on his sleeve.

"Slavers," Fenris growled, pausing next to Artemis. "I owe you a debt. You helped me clear out one mansion. I'll... I'll help you clear out this one." His words only ran together a little.

Artemis knew his family didn't have the standing to take the mansion back, but the thought warmed him. "You'd help a mage?" he asked.

"I always pay my debts."

Artie supposed that was as approving as Fenris was going to be of him.

Once Fenris tottered to the mansion door, Artemis paused. "I should..." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Y'know. Home. Bed. Well. Metaphorical bed. More like floor, but. Something horizontal I can sleep on." Piled in next to his brothers, and _that_ wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Fenris squinted at him. Whether in suspicion or because he was seeing double, Artie didn't know. "You, mage, are far drunker than I am," he said, pointing with one wavering, clawed finger. "You shouldn't wander through Lowtown alone."

"You drank more than I did!"

"Like you could count after three. Plus, you're... you're a lightweight. A mage-faced lightweight."

"Mage-faced?" Artemis frowned and poked at his cheeks, at lips he could barely feel. 

"Don't be insulted." The elf gestured expansively with his hands, and Artemis had to lean back to avoid being smacked in the face. His mage-face. "It's jusss... just a descriptor. Like... like blue."

"Or pretty?" That was certainly the descriptor he'd have used for _Fenris's_ face. His pretty elf-face.

"Sure." Fenris stopped pushing the door and finally remembered to pull. "Anyway. Your... mage-face can stay the night, provided there are no magical shen... shenanan... shenanigans. I'm sure there's a couch here somewhere."

"Just my mage-face? What about the rest of mage-me?"

"If it is attached to you, it may enter."

"My mage-ass thanks you."

 

Artemis wasn't sure how the quest for a couch had ended in the wine cellar, but there he was, hip propped against the racks while Fenris muttered at the seals on the wine. The first bottle had ended up smashed against the wall, bleeding wine onto the stone. The next two met less violent fates.

"If Danarius wants it back," Fenris said, pressing a bottle into Artemis's hand, "he's welcome to come and take it."

They found a room free of corpses and demon ash, and with a fire glowing in the hearth, it was almost cozy. Or it would have been, had Artemis not been distracted by the mess. Dust and damage and clutter. His fingernails picked at the wine label, and he drank until his brain was too numb to process his agitation.

"Oh." He looked down at himself, at the legs and ass he was sure belonged to him. "Found the couch."

Fenris looked down at Artie's ass too. "So we did." He saluted with his bottle of wine and took a long swig. He stumbled into the chair by the couch.

"So you always get this drunk around people you've just met?" Artemis asked. "Or am I just special?" His smile aimed for seductive, but just came out creepy, judging by the odd look Fenris gave him. 

"Could ask you the same."

"Mm. Y'not special." Artie shrugged and took another long drink. He slumped sideways on the couch, turning so that the arm propped up his head. He tilted his head back to look at Fenris. His elf-face was just as pretty upside-down.

"Dangerous habit," Fenris said. "Especially for a mage."

And Artemis knew that, really. He did. He waved it aside anyway. "Turns off my brain," Artie explained, his hand flopping back to his chest. "It goes all sort of... peaceful. All that noise and chatter just... gone." He gestured at his head. He always forgot that, the next morning, the noise and chatter would be louder, but right now his brain felt stuffed with cotton, padded against his own anxieties. "Dulls my magic." And that probably wasn't the sort of thing he ought to tell someone he barely knew. Usually his older brother stopped him from doing anything _too_ stupid. Or at least anything too stupid alone.

"And that is... a desired trait?" Fenris rumbled.

Artie hummed. He'd much rather cut out his magic altogether, and he had his own reasons for wanting his magic dulled around Fenris. If this went the way he wanted it to, an earthquake would kill the mood fairly quickly.

Artemis's head hung over the armrest, and his eyes slid closed. The cold press of metal at his throat had him opening them again. Fenris's upside-down elf-face was closer than he remembered. The gaunteleted fingers were gentle this time, and the brush of lyrium tingled in a way that made him shiver. Artemis watched Fenris's face and arched his neck into that hand.

"Bruises," Fenris explained before his hand jerked away. Artie's skin felt cold in its absence. "I did not mean to hurt you. I apologise."

"You already apologised," Artemis said, waving the words away. He twisted so that his chin sat on the armrest and Fenris's face was rightside-up. "Technically I hurt you first, even if it was accidental. M'sorry about that too, by the way. As for bruises, my brother can heal them later."

Fenris sat back in his chair, expression hardening. "Your brother is a mage, too?" 

"Yes. Wait. Not... not Anton. M'older brother. Cormac. Healing isn't Bethy's thing, and Carver can't magic, so."

Something else he probably shouldn't be telling someone he barely knew. 

"How many of you are there?" Fenris asked, eyes wide.

Artie blinked. "I just told you."

"Five Hawkes?"

"Mm."

"Plus your mother and uncle, all in that hovel?"

"Mm."

He blinked, slowly, heavily, and green eyes filled his vision. "Artemis?"

"Mm?"

"Are you falling asleep?"

"Mm." 

He didn't feel Fenris pry the bottle out of his hand or tuck a pillow under his head. He also didn't hear him mutter something about mages before staggering out of the room.

 

Fenris was gone when Artemis woke up, which was, he supposed, a small blessing. It gave him the opportunity to puke into the chamber pot in peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carver is a little shit, and Artie's elf-related awkwardness extends to the Blooming Rose.

 

Artemis craned his neck back to peek at the sign and its emblem of a budding rose. He'd seen plenty of flowers in his travels but never one that looked so much like genitals.

"You ever been in one of these?" he asked his brother, dropping his eyes to the side.

"What? No!" Carver said a bit too quickly. He squirmed a bit and added, "Have you?"

"Cormac dragged me into one once. Or twice. At least." Which was, perhaps, bending the truth, as there hadn't been much dragging, at least not from Cormac and not after that first time. There was usually a brothel close to the alienage in most cities, Artie had found, which. Meant elves. In the brothels. And no, he was _not_ thinking of Fenris in that context now. Nope.

Carver cracked his knuckles, and Artemis finally looked at him. "You're going to punch Cormac again, aren't you?"

"Might do."

Artie thought he should probably tell Carver the idea had been his after all. But nah. Cormac had shields.

"Do you think we should go in and get him?" he asked. Not Cormac, but Anton.

Carver make an unhelpfully noncommittal noise. "Nah. Give him a minute. Not sure I want to know what we'd find."

Artemis slumped against a pillar as they waited, offering creepy waves at the patrons trying to sneak out the door.

"...once, before Ostagar," Carver admitted. Artemis glanced back at him quizzically. "You asked if I've ever been in one of these. I have. Once. But I'm not going in there. _You_ can get him."

"What? Why me? I'm the older brother, here. I'm supposed to be bossing _you_ around."

Carver folded his arms across his chest. "He's also my older brother, so he'll just boss me around too. Means you should go. I dare you."

"No. No, you are not daring me. That is not fair."

"Fine. Be a delicate mageflower." He pointed above his head at the sign, at the flower with the lady bits.

"Say that a little louder, why don't you?" Artemis hissed, ears turning red. "I don't think the templars heard!" 

" _Mage_ flower," Carver repeated.

"That's not funny."

"MAGEflower."

"Dammit, Carver! Fine! All right! I'm going!" Artie scowled at Carver around the door as he tore it open. His little shit of a brother grinned and waved. 

Inside, the Blooming Rose was... loud. Music, voices, and the scrape and creak of chairs. The air cloyed with perfume. He wandered over to the bar and tried not to look like he had no idea what he was doing. The barkeep gave him a once over and leaned across. "Yeah? What can I get you?"

"I'm looking for my brother, actually. Anton? My height, hair colour, a bit fairer?"

"Oh _Anton_ , yeah. Should be down in a sec. I'll send the brat up to get him." He turned to shout orders at some wet-eared kid, making Artemis jump. 

"All right, that's just -- I'll wait over here, shall I?" Artemis hooked his thumb over his shoulder. The barkeep gestured him away. Artie moved to stand off to the side, in sight of the main staircase, fingers twisting in his hair. 

Artie didn't realise that standing in the Blooming Rose for more than a few minutes was an invitation for an ass grab. 

"How much for _you_ , darling?" asked the bear of a man currently fondling his rump. The bear of a man with the Sword of Mercy on his chest. Oh sweet Maker.

Artemis was going to murder Anton. He flailed mentally for a moment and wondered if he could get away with force magicking the man into a wall. Templar, he reminded himself. No force magicking templars. That had been Dad's first rule.

"Sorry, Ser Grabby Hands," Artemis said, pushing the templar back the non-magical way. "I don't work here. Please stop touching me." It was flattering how put-out the man looked at that, and Artemis smiled awkwardly and squirmed out from under him, scooting to stand right by the stair banister.

"Maker," he groaned, covering his burning face with his hand. Someone chuckled next to him, and Artemis peered through his fingers to see an elf smirking at him.

"Pity," said the elf. His eyes were startlingly blue. "I was hoping to see how you'd handle 'Ser Grabby Hands'." Now _that_ was a seductive smile.

This was the part where Artemis should say something charming. What he did was blush harder and stammer. Maker. He should have gotten a drink at the bar.

"Well, aren't you just adorable?" said the elf, looking Artemis over like he was a treat to be devoured. "The name's Jethann. You here alone, handsome?"

Artie blushed harder still, laughing self-deprecatingly. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, tugging at a loose thread and threatening to unravel the entire thing. "Ah, no. Well, yes. That is -- I'm just looking for my brother."

"Are you sure that's all you're looking for?" Jethann purred, long fingers smoothing down the front of Artemis's tunic. Blue eyes smouldered, and Artie all but swallowed his tongue. Jethann watched Artemis sputter for a moment longer before bursting into laughter and stepping back. "Oh, look at you blush. Sorry, darling. You're much too fun to tease."

"Artie!" called out a laughing, familiar voice, saving Artemis from embarrassing himself further. Anton swung around the banister and into view, wrapping an arm around Artemis's shoulders. "My favourite brother!" His breath smelled like bourbon.

"Favourite?" Artie huffed, pushing Anton away. "I'd hope so, considering my competition!"

Anton cackled. "Does that mean I'm your favourite brother too?" he slurred, ruffling Artie's hair.

"In this room? Sure! Now, come on. We're playing Wicked Grace, and Varric's buying drinks. Not that you need one." Spying the amused look on Jethann's face, Artemis thought _he_ could use one. He nudged Anton in the direction of the door. "Go on. Carver's waiting out front. Try not to fall on his sword, please."

He watched Anton totter off for a moment before turning back to Jethann. "So, um... for future reference. How much for...?" Artemis trailed off meaningfully.

"More than you can afford, sweetie." Jethann looked pointedly down at Artie's boots, where one toe poked through. Artemis curled his toes and tried to hide it, but the sole on his other boot had all but fallen off. "Which is too bad, because I'd love to hear you finish that sentence."

"Oh." That was for the best, really. It wouldn't have ended well.

Jethann tutted and lifted Artemis's head with one finger. "Don't look so glum, handsome," he said. "You know, if you're hard on coin, you should think of talking to Madame Lusine. With that face and those long legs, you would be in high demand around here. You're Rivaini, aren't you? Well, Fereldan by the accent, but at least part Rivaini. I know at least one nobleman whose toes would curl just looking at you, and we know one templar who'd like you to sheathe his Sword of Mercy." His hand skimmed Artie's throat as he pulled it back. "We could always work something out, then."

Artemis made a choked sound in the back of his throat. "That's -- I --" He gestured desperately over his shoulder. "I should... go. My brother. Drunk. He is, that is. He is drunk. I am... Pleasure meeting you. Yes."

Artemis managed to trip over only one chair on his way out the door.

 

The Hanged Man was just as loud. And crowded. Except instead of perfume, the place smelled of vomit and body odour. Artie wasn't sure which was worse.

"If it isn't my favourite brothers!" Cormac greeted them at the door, arms out wide. Carver punched him in the face.

"So how was the Rose?" Varric asked conversationally, grinning over his cards at the new arrivals as Carver chased Cormac around the bar.

Artemis sat down, still looking dazed. "I think I was offered a job."

"Congratulations," Anders said, saluting him with his tankard. "Welcome to the club. We could start our own business: Apostates by Appointment. If any templars ask, we'll say we're roleplaying."

"I am not selling my ass," Artie groaned, stealing Cormac's drink and downing the rest of it. He coughed at the disgusting taste, but at least it burned its way down his throat. "No matter how high a price it would apparently fetch."

"Hey, it's one way to fund the expedition," Varric said, shrugging. He pulled out a deck of cards, but the table shook when Anton plunked down his coin purse. 

"Whoa," Artie stammered, "where did you...?"

"Most men leave a brothel with less coin not more," Aveline put in. She squinted at Anton. "Do we need to have a talk?"

"Won it off Dips," Anton replied, pouring himself into a chair. "What did you think I was doing at the Rose? Whoring? Please. Like I need to pay for that."

"Dips?" Bethany asked, primly spacing out her cards and holding them like a fan.

"Serendipity," Anton said, nodding. "Charming lady. You'd like her."

"Well, looks like we've found another way to fund the expedition," Varric said. "We'll save Nervy's ass for Plan B."

Artemis sneered at him over his cards. Which were terrible. "Hey," he said as he rearranged them and rearranged them, making sure they were all evenly spaced. "What do you think of inviting Fenris next time?"

Anton scoffed. "Really? The mage-hating elf in skin-tight leather around... how many mages? How could that possibly end well?"

"What's this about leatherclad elves?" Cormac asked, pulling out a chair and smiling as though he hadn't just been punched in the face. Which, technically, he hadn't. Yay, shields. "And why wasn't I invited?" 

Carver shook out his hand as he sat, sending Cormac a baleful look across the table.

"It's nothing," Artemis muttered. "Just a thought. I have those sometimes. Best to ignore them."

Even terribly drunk, Anton still managed to win the pot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a lovely day for a hike up Sundermount. Except for the bandits. It's a terrible day for the bandits.
> 
> No elves were harmed in the making of this chapter ~~but some mages might have been~~.

 

There were worse things to wake up to than his brother's face, Artemis supposed. But there were better things too, especially when hungover.

Cormac's grin was the shit-eating kind. "Elves," he said.

"Elves?" Artemis squinted up at him. It was ridiculous how bright it was for morning. More ridiculous still was how loud the floorboards were under Gamlen as he walked. "There are elves? Where?"

"Sundermount."

"Sundermount?"

"Sundermount. You remember the dragon lady?" Cormac gestured at his head, trying to convey the dramatic sweep of her hair. "We still have to drop off some jewellery for her, to Marethari. And I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air."

"Drop off some jewellery... to the elves. Right." Artemis sat up, wincing when the contents of his skull shifted. "Maker," he swore, clutching his head. Cormac flicked some healing in his direction, and Artie groaned in relief. "See, this is why you're my favourite brother," he sighed. "Don't tell Anton."

Artemis cast about for his clothes, rubbing his eye with the heel of one hand. Cormac rattled off about getting food on the way. Food and the healer, actually. Artie raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. It made him think...

"If we're going, we should bring my elf. Er, that is --"

" _Your_ elf? You have an elf?" And there was that shit-eating grin again. "Or does this elf have you and how often?"

Artemis sputtered, folding his nightshirt to keep from looking Cormac in the eye. "No, it's not -- _Maker_. He's not _mine_. He's... just an elf. Who I happen to know. But don't get excited. For an elf, he's not very... elfy."

"Mm, that's too bad. I remember you being a big fan of elven c--" Their mother walked into the room, yawning into her hand "--ulture. Elven culture."

Artie could feel his cheeks burning. "I'm gonna kick _you_ in the culture," he muttered.

"Shields. You'd just bruise your toe."

The toe Artie could see through the hole in his boots. He sighed.

 

The door groaned open, and Artemis greeted the elf with open arms. "Fenris!" he chirped. 

Fenris looked him up and down, ruffling his hair with one hand. "Mage," he said. "Are you drunk? Again? We've met twice, and you've been drunk both times."

"Not drunk. Hungover." Artie's arms fell back to his sides. "And technically I was sober when we met."

"Now there's a small miracle," Carver muttered. Fenris narrowed a look at him, then at Isabela and at Cormac and Anders.

"Why are there so many humans on my doorstep?" he asked. "Do you travel in packs?"

"They're Hawkes," Anders said. "They travel in aeries."

"Hawkes? Plural?" Fenris glanced at Artie, looking every bit as dismayed as he ought to be.

"This is my little shit of a brother, Carver," Artemis said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Carver. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to know Carver was giving him a rude gesture. "And this is my bigger shit of a brother, Cormac." Another gesture of his thumb, and Cormac grinned and waved.

"Cormac..." Fenris repeated to himself, squinting. Artie had mentioned something about Cormac while he was drunk. Mage. Another mage. Two mages on his doorstep. Fenris's grip tightened on the doorframe, but Mage Two kept smiling.

"Pleased to meet you. Fenris, was it? Those are some fucking amazing tattoos. Do they tell a story?"

"Those tattoos look Tevinter," Anders hastened to tell Cormac. "An elf with Tevinter tattoos? Probably best not to ask."

Fenris gave Anders a measuring look and an ugly smile. "He's not wrong," he said, "and the story they tell isn't the good kind."

"Maybe not," Isabela purred, looking him over, "but if you let me lick them, that story might have a happy ending."

Fenris blinked at her. "...I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"That's Isabela," Artemis sighed, rubbing his forehead, "and yes, she's always like that. And the... feathered blond is Anders."

"Interesting," Fenris rumbled, "but you still haven't answered my question."

"Which question?"

"Why the fuck are there so many humans on my doorstep?"

"Oh. That question." Artemis grinned sheepishly. "Cormac?"

Cormac shook his head. "You're the one who wanted to invite him."

"Right. So, my brothers and I need to head up to Sundermount to deliver something to the Keeper of the Dalish tribe there. We were -- well, I guess _I_ was -- hoping you'd like to join us?"

Another long, slow blink from Fenris. "And you thought... what, 'let's take the one elf I know to go see the other elves'?"

"First off, I know other elves," Artemis huffed. "I've known loads of elves--"

Cormac muttered something about 'elven loads' that made Isabela grin. Artie stepped on his toes.

"Second off, my thought was more along the lines of 'oh Sweet Maker, this house smells like crotch. But you know what probably smells worse? That corpse-infested mansion Fenris is squatting in'. And then I thought how nice some fresh air would be for both of us. Am I wrong? I'm not wrong."

Fenris stared at him, and Artemis wondered if he was about to have a door slammed in his face. Maker. He was terrible at this.

Fenris looked over his shoulder at the corpse in the foyer he'd started to call Marcus. "Sundermount, you say?"

Artie grinned. "Sundermount."

 

It was a lovely day for a hike up the mountain. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and bandits died screaming in terror. Fenris sighed and took a moment to appreciate it before tearing his sword free. The body under his foot jerked and fell limp.

"Ugh! Ew, _Carver_! You did that on purpose!"

Fenris turned at the mage's whining -- the first mage, Artemis -- to find Artemis's face and front spattered with blood, his shoulders hunched as he bristled like an angry kitten. The sight would have been amusing had Fenris not already seen too many bloodied mages.

"Well, _excuse me_ , mageflower," Carver sneered as he wiped off his blade in the grass. "I'll try not to kill anything in your delicate presence!"

"Now, now, Carver," Cormac scolded, bending over a body and dipping his hand in the blood. Fenris's own blood ran cold. "You know how our brother is." He straightened and clapped that bloodied hand on Artie's shoulder. "Try not to torment him too much." 

Artie's eyes and Cormac's grin widened in tandem. Then Cormac went flying back into a tree.

"Mages," Fenris muttered under his breath. A blue glow caught his attention, and Fenris turned to see Anders waving a glowing hand over Isabela's wrenched arm. "Mages?"

Anders caught his stare and smiled awkwardly. "Do you need healing? I have healing." He waggled his still-glowing fingers.

"I think Cormac will in a minute," Isabela said, nudging Anders with her elbow and pointing. 

"Mm? Oh, no, he's fine." 

Fenris looked back at the brothers. The air shimmered blue between Cormac and every surface Artemis bounced him against, and Cormac was _laughing_.

_Three_ mages? Six of them, and _three mages_?

"Venhedis," Fenris hissed through his teeth, and then air felt like it was in short supply. He didn't know how long he stood like that, breathing harshly through his nose, but suddenly Artemis was there, expressive eyes soft with concern. His hands twitched as though to reach forward, to touch, but the mage wisely pulled them back. He'd wiped the blood off his face, but it still shone red and damning on his clothing.

"Fenris? All right?"

Fenris pointed an accusatory finger. "You... you didn't say I'd be outnumbered by mages."

"Ah. Well." Artemis looked about him, finger twisting in his hair. "Technically, I didn't tell you you _wouldn't_ be outnumbered by mages. And you're not really outnumbered. Three mages to three non-mages. That's not too many, is it? Is it too many? It is too many."

" _One_ mage is too many."

Artie made a face, gaze skittering away as he picked at his bloodied clothing, dabbing at it with a rag from Maker-knew-where. Somehow, it was the face Artie made, looking at the blood, that calmed Fenris. A blood mage wouldn't be so bothered by it. A _magister_ wouldn't be so bothered by it.

Fenris uncurled his hands from the fists he didn't know he'd made. "You don't like blood?"

Artemis paused in his fussing to blink up at him. "Does anyone _like_ it?" he asked, shrugging. "But no, not particularly. Messy. Why?"

Fenris should not have found that so comforting.

Artemis's expression smoothed over in realisation. "Oh." He looked back at Cormac, who said something that put a snit-face on Carver. "We're not magisters, Fen. Fenris." He hurried to add the elf's full name, unsure of Fenris's reaction to a nickname. "Or blood mages." He shrugged. "We can't help having magic, but we can... we can help not abusing that magic. 'My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base'." 

That last sentence held the weight of a quote. At Fenris's curious glance, Artemis explained, "My father used to say that. I'd say 'you would have liked him', but he was a mage too, so..." 

Fenris considered the man in front of him and the almost sad smile that twisted his lips. Those were lovely words with a lovely sentiment. Fenris only wished he could trust them.

"Some mages are worthy of respect," Fenris said carefully. "It is simply in my experience that most are not."

"Well, to be fair, most of your experience comes from Tevinter, and that place is, by all accounts, all kinds of fucked up."

Fenris snorted. The mage was not wrong.

"Give us a chance to give you some new experiences, yes?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you guys saw that 'Mahariel/Hawke' pairing in the tags, right? Yeah...
> 
> The brothers Hawke visit the Dalish and meet some old friends along the way. Some are... friendlier than others.

 

 

Night was falling by the time they reached the camp.

"Hold, Shemlen! Your kind are not welcome among the Dalish." A pair of elves stood in the road, blocking the way into the camp, swords at their backs and scowls on their faces.

Cormac greeted them with arms thrown wide. "Aneth ara!" he said.

The elves' scowls twisted into looks of confusion.

Fenris squinted at the bearded mage. "You... speak Elvish?"

Artemis leaned in, answering for Cormac. "My brother all but stalked a few Dalish tribes when we were kids. I think he rather wishes he were an elf."

Fenris tensed at the mage's proximity, shifting subtly to the side. "He's a bit hairy for that, isn't he?" He didn't think the joke half as funny as Artie's laugh indicated it was. 

Cormac, meanwhile, was busy still confusing the Dalish.

"Wait," said one of the guards, turning to her companion while keeping her eyes fixed on Cormac. "I... think this is the one the Keeper spoke of."

"A shemlen?" said the other guard, looking Cormac up and down. "I thought he'd be an elf."

"That's the Hawkes for you," Carver huffed. "Always a disappointment."

"You really shouldn't talk about the whole family when you really mean yourself," Cormac cheerfully replied.

"Does that mean you're inviting us in for some tea?" Anders asked. "I could go for some tea."

"You may enter," said the first guard, wisely ignoring most of their commentary. "Keeper Marethari has been waiting for you."

The guards stepped aside as they passed, still looking like they were waiting for an excuse to reach for their swords. Inside the camp were memories of Artemis's childhood: aravels and campfires, trees and barefoot elves. Except there were no halla, and the eyes trained on them were more suspicious than amused. "All right, Cormac," Artemis said, nudging his brother's arm with his. "Let's try not to traumatise  _this_ clan, shall we?"

"Hey," Cormac countered, pointing a finger at Artemis, "as I recall, the last brand of elven traumatising was  _your_ fault."

Artemis squirmed, fingers picking an at imperfection in his staff's wood. "And as  _I_ recall, we agreed not to speak of that."

"I made no such agreement. Speaking of, is it just me or does the name 'Marethari' sound familiar? I keep wondering that."

"That's not funny, Cormac."

"Wasn't meant to be funny. Just meant to be a question."

Somehow, that made it worse.

A little elven girl tottered alongside them, a finger in her mouth and eyes wide and rapt as she watched them.

"Why, hello there, sweetie," Isabela cooed, fingers itching to tweak those jutting little ears. "Aren't you the cutest thing?"

The girl smiled bashfully around her finger, and she turned and ran to what Artie assumed was her father.

"My apologies," the girl's father laughed, scooping her up into his arms. "She hasn't seen a shemlen -- er, a human -- before." A second elven girl, this one a little older, peered at them from around his legs.

Artemis squinted at the man with the child hooked on his hip, at the crooked smile that lifted fine cheeks. The vallaslin across his forehead and cheekbones was distracting, but Artie recognised the shape of that face. The elf looked up and caught his stare, and Artie swore.

Oh Maker. That's why the name Marethari sounded familiar... this was  _that_ clan.

"You," said Mahariel, tilting his head as he considered Artemis, who was currently trying to shrink behind Carver. Carver scowled and shoved him forward again. "Do I know you?"

"No, nope, how could you possibly know me?"

Fenris arched an eyebrow at the mage's nervous laugh. Artemis bounced his staff against the ground in agitation, and realisation smoothed over Mahariel's brow.

"Oh!" Mahariel said, grin splitting his face. "The earthquake boy!"

Carver's eyebrows shot up while Cormac snickered.

"Oh Maker," Artie said weakly, passing a hand over his eyes.

"Earthquakes?" Fenris asked, squinting. "Did you use magic on him?"

"Not on purpose," Artemis said in an embarrassed squeak.

"Something tells me this is a story I  _have_ to hear!" Isabela laughed.

"Not in front of the children, you don't," Cormac said, grinning.

"Not  _at all_ you don't," Artie said in a strangled voice. "Where is Keeper Marethari? This way? I'm walking this way. It was nice seeing you, Theron. Yes."

Mahariel watched, amused, as Artemis scurried past, his stare lingering on Artie's ass for longer than was polite. 

"Sorry about that," Cormac said, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "Artemis is... well..."

"Hasn't changed much, has he?" Mahariel said. "It was nice seeing you too, A--" He glanced at the little girl in his arms and the little girl tugging at his shirt. "--'Butt-face'. You might want to tell him that the Keeper's aravel is in the other direction."

 

Marethari looked back and forth between the amulet in her hands and the tattoos on Cormac's face, her own face twisting. "I'm beginning to wonder if the Dread Wolf has a sense of humour," she muttered, shaking her head to herself. “Tell me how this burden fell to you.” She addressed Cormac and Artemis, to Carver’s clear annoyance.

“A dragon fell from the sky,” Cormac said, shrugging, “charred some darkspawn, then asked me to bring you this amulet. No big deal.”

Fenris gave him an incredulous look, only to find Cormac's brothers nodding in agreement. “What.”

"You are blessed by luck, then," Marethari said, accepting this explanation without question, and Fenris wondered if he was the only sane person here. "I will pray that Mythal watches over your path."

"Thank you, Keeper," Artemis said with a polite bow of his head. "The... dragon-lady said we were to follow your instructions?"

"The amulet must be taken to an altar at the top of the mountain, and given a Dalish rite for the departed. I will send my First with you to perform the ritual."

"Top of the...? It's the middle of the night!" Carver whined. Artie elbowed him in the ribs.

"It is," Marethari agreed. "You may spend the night in our camp, but come daylight, I ask that you be on your way." She looked at Artemis as she said, "And please try not to destroy anything. We may not have any halla to scare off, but a mountainside is a dangerous place for an earthquake."

"Oh Maker," Artie squeaked, throwing a hand over his face. He could feel his skin burning under his palm. "No earthquakes. Right."

 

With night came a chill, the wet kind of chill that settled in the bones, but Master Ilen told stories in front of the campfire, the light flashing orange along his vallaslin, and the night was almost pleasant. It was like Artemis was fourteen again, sitting in front of a similar campfire, listening to a younger Ilen. Except now, from this angle, Fenris's markings looked firelit too, and Artemis tried not to stare. An annoyed look from the broody elf said he wasn't succeeding.

Artemis cleared his throat. "Cold?" he asked, noticing the fine shiver Fenris was trying to stop. The day had been warm enough, but Fenris's bare arms and feet weren't suited for an early autumn night in the Free Marches. 

Fenris hummed, eyes on the storyteller. "Everything is cold compared to Tevinter," he said. He shrugged. "I do not mind. It is a reminder that I am elsewhere."

"There are plenty of other reminders," Artemis said, voice pitched low so as not to interrupt Ilen's story. "The foliage, for instance. Position of the stars. All things you can savour while still being warm."

Fenris gave him a wry look. "Too dark to make out any foliage. And I'm not much for star-gazing."

"No, I imagine the hair gets in the way."

Fenris looked up, and hair fell into his eyes. A laugh punched out of him before he could stop it, coughing and clearing his throat to regain some dignity. "This is a point."

"I've been known to make a few. But the point I was  _trying_ to make is that you are cold, when you do not have to be."

"Oh? You know a spell for 'summoning sweaters', do you?"

"I wish. I could go into business as a sweater merchant. I could make a fortune in the Anderfels." 

A smile quirked at the corner of Fenris's lips. 

"But no, that's not what I... here." Artemis unbuckled his coat and dropped it over Fenris's shoulders. It was a thin, ratty thing, but at least it had sleeves.

"What--?"

"I'm from Ferelden," Artemis explained with a shrug. "This is tropical in comparison." Hyperbole, certainly, but convincing enough that the elf didn't throw the garment back in his face. "You don't mind mage clothes, do you?"

"Mages putting clothing  _on_ me? No, that is a welcome reprieve." Fenris burrowed into the coat until only his ears and hair stuck out. He gave Artie an appraising look. "Thank you."

Questions regarding mages, Fenris, and a lack of clothing piled up in Artie's mind, but he didn't dare ask any of them. "You're... welcome? Yes. You're welcome." He wanted so badly to shift closer, even just an inch or so under the pretense of sharing warmth, but he knew Fenris would shift away if he tried. Not that Artie could blame him. Mage, former slave. Yes, that would fall under the category of Bad Touch. 

Artemis stood abruptly. "I need some... air. More air. Other air. Air in that direction, away from the fire." 

"O...kay?"

Artemis retreated into the dark, ducking behind an aravel. Maker, he could use a drink. Or three. Three drinks at least to drown the knot of nerves Fenris twisted his insides into. And there was a thought: twisting Artie's insides into knots. Fenris could probably do that  _literally_ too. 

"Not helping, Artie," he muttered to himself, banging his head against the aravel three times. One, two, three. Three was a good number. Like the way they were travelling in two sets of three. Three Hawkes on this trip. Three points on this aravel's triangular sails. Three...

"Most people knock with their fists, you know."

Artemis jumped and cursed, hand reaching for a staff that wasn't there, the staff he'd left by Fenris. He squinted in the dark at the laughing elf. " _Theron_? Oh, Maker. Is this your aravel? This is your aravel, isn't it?" 

"It is, but don't worry. The girls will sleep through anything."

The girls. Children. Mahariel with  _children_. 

"Oh. Ha. That's... good."

"Well... maybe not through an earthquake," Theron added with an impish smile. He laughed when Artie groaned.

"Don't. Don't say things like that. Not unless you provide me with another aravel to smack my head against."

"Oh, come on now. I rather liked the earthquakes." Mahariel stepped closer, leaning a hip against the aravel's wheel. The moonlight lit his face better from this angle, and Artemis found himself looking for traces of the sixteen-year-old he'd known. "I almost miss them. And if you're going to smack your head against an aravel, it might as well be this one." His teasing grin turned wicked.

Artemis's eyes went wide. "This... this isn't the same aravel...?"

Mahariel nodded, grinning.

Artie remembered. His first kiss, first touch. Aravel rocking in time to the hips pistoning into his. The first crackle of pleasure at the base of his spine brought on by someone else, as the aravel not only rocked but started to tremble. The spark of white behind his eyes, the sound of wood snapping, and the sight of Mahariel wide-eyed and euphoric above him... then the shouts of swearing elves throughout the camp.

A tree had fallen over and landed on their aravel. Luckily, no one had been hurt, but that hadn't quelled the sick feeling in Artie's gut when he saw the destruction. Marethari's ears had twitched as she glared at him.

Maker, that had been mortifying.

A nervous laugh escaped him. "It's a wonder Marethari didn't kick us out the moment she saw us."

Mahariel laughed. "Between that and your brother's 'vallaslin', she's barely let any humans near the camp since."

"I...hope she understands that Cormac and I are not the norm," Artie said, fingers tracing a seam of wood along the aravel's paneled side. "My little brother is here. He'd be happy to tell you how unnormal we are."

"'Unnormal'. You know," said Mahariel, shifting closer again. Artemis knew he should step back but didn't. "For the longest time, I thought the earthquakes were a human thing. The next time we passed by a shemlen city, I sneaked in just to feel that again. I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong that none of my shem lovers made the earth shake when they came."

Artemis swallowed, mouth going dry. "T-to be fair," he stammered, "it doesn't happen  _all_ the time."

Another step closer. "But it still does." 

"It... I... ha."

It was unfair that Mahariel could still fluster him like this. Like Fenris. Elves. Damn these elves.

"Some things don't change, hm?" Mahariel murmured, words vibrating against Artie's ear, sending a shiver down his neck. When had he gotten that close?

Mahariel touched Artie's jaw with the backs of his fingers before he opened his hand to spread across Artie's neck. He could feel Artemis's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "How about this? Do you still like having your throat squeezed?"

Artemis tilted his head back, breathing going ragged. Maker help him, but he pictured a different elf holding his throat. "You remember that," he said. "You don't remember my name, but you remember that."

"I remember your name.  _Artemis_. A pretty name for a pretty face."

"Liar," Artie said, smiling. "You just heard my brother call me that."

Mahariel put the loveliest pressure against Artemis's neck, and a groan shivered out of Artie's lips. "Maybe," Mahariel said at his ear. "But I remember it now, Artemis, oh Artemis. Artemis, if my wife and I invite you to our bed, Artemis, will you shake it for us?"

Artie shivered at the request, but -- "Your... wife?" 

A woman cleared her throat, and Artemis turned, Mahariel's hand slipping from his neck. Standing there was an elven woman, fair-skinned and dark-haired, with a knife at each hip. "Yes, his wife," she said dryly, throwing Mahariel a look that was more teasing than scolding. She sounded Fereldan. A city elf, then. "Really, Theron."

"Oh, come on, Kalli," Mahariel wheedled. "He's pretty for a shem, isn't he?"

"He is, but we don't need earthquakes scaring the children."

Children. Right. 

Mahariel sighed. "Artemis, this is Kallian Tabris, my wife. Kalli, this is Artemis."

Artie smiled and waved weakly. Tabris snorted, thumbs hooking into her belt. "So this is Earthquake Boy, huh?" 

Mahariel grinned.

"Earthquake--? Does  _everyone_ in Thedas know about that now?"

Mahariel bit back a snicker. "Well, if they do, it's not because of  _me_."

Artemis scowled, and Mahariel threw up his hands, schooling his expression.

"Right," Artie said. "I should, um."

"You 'should, um' right here for a bit," Tabris said, lips twisting like she was fighting not to laugh. "Probably shouldn't sit in front of Ilen with your, ah, mage staff looking like it could drill through wood." She looked down pointedly, and Artemis flushed so hard his cheeks hurt. He scrambled to bunch his tunic over his crotch.

 

A few minutes later, Artemis returned to sit stiffly next to Fenris.

Fenris spared him a glance. "How was the 'air' over there?" he asked wryly.

"Much worse."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally meet Merrill, and Artemis worries that might be one mage -- or three -- too many for Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was that? Oh yes, that was the sound of me forgetting to post this chapter has been done for months. Ahhhaha. Oops?

 In the morning, Marethari introduced -- or, in the case of Cormac and Artemis, reintroduced -- them to Merrill, her First. "Merrill will guide you to the top of the mountain and help you complete the ritual," Marethari told them. She glanced at Merrill, the air between them fraught. "And when that is done, I ask that you take her with you."

 

 

Cormac and Artemis exchanged glances. "Not that we wouldn't be happy to have her," Cormac said, "but that seems a bit strange."

"It was my request," Merrill said, chin held high. "I wish to... live in the city. To try something new. That's all."

Artemis didn't ask. 

Marethari sighed. "I wish you luck," she said. "Dareth shiral." She bowed her head and took her leave, and only then did the tension in Merrill's shoulders loosen.

"So... hello," Merrill said, her smile sheepish. She looked back and forth between Artemis and Cormac, stare lingering on Cormac's tattoos. "I'm sorry. I know we met years ago, but I don't... remember your names. That's terribly rude of me, isn't it? Is it rude? I think I remember... something to do with a bird. Sparrow?"

"A mockingbird might be more fitting," Fenris rumbled. "Heavy on the mocking." 

Artemis smirked. 

"What about a woodpecker?" Cormac suggested, nudging Isabela with his elbow.

"Hawke," Carver said before any other terrible bird jokes could come to light. "We're Hawkes. Though I'd really rather not be at this point."

"We could start calling you something else, Carver," Artemis suggested sweetly. "We have plenty of names lined up for you."

"Shut up, Earthquake Boy."

Merrill tittered into her hand. "Well. Hawkes, then. As the Keeper said, I'm Merrill."

"I'm Anders," said the healer cheerfully. "Not a Hawke. Over here is Isabela and over there is Fenris, both not-Hawkes as well."

"I'll try to remember," Merrill said. "I've... I've never seen so many humans in one place." Her laugh was the nervous kind. "Dalish mothers frighten their children with stories about you, you know. Not you, personally, of course," she hastened to add, eyes wide. "I'm sure they don't have any tales about any of you. Or not scary ones, at least. Not that you're not notable enough to have a story...  I mean, Mahariel --  I'll just shut up now."

Fenris shook his head. He was surrounded by idiots.

"Scary stories? No," Isabela said, grinning. "Just naughty ones. And aren't you a cute one? You're like a nervous little kitten."

"Am I?" Another nervous laugh from Merrill. "Well, anyway. We should go. Your task is for Asha'bellanar. It's not wise to make her wait."

They passed by a set of ruins, and a Dalish hunter crouching over a fire. He straightened when he saw them, hand flexing on his bow, but he sneered when he saw Merrill. "So the Keeper finally found someone to take you from here."

Merrill kept her chin up, her back straight. "Yes," she said but otherwise didn't react.

Artie exchanged a look with Cormac, and the Dalish hunter addressed the pair of them. "Then finish your task quickly, shems. We cannot be rid of this one too soon." He spat on the ground in front of Merrill, who flinched but didn't move.

"Isn't Dalish comradery delightful?" Anders muttered. "But, then again, in my experience, all Dalish are crazy."

"I have made my choice," Merrill said as the hunter pushed past her. "And I will save our clan, whatever you think." Hers was the desperate tone of someone who'd had this argument before, likely many times.

"Well, that isn't ominous at all," Fenris muttered. He narrowed his eyes at Artemis. "What have you dragged me into?"

"Not sure," Artie admitted. "Blame him?" He smiled weakly and pointed at Cormac.

"Blame Anton. He's the one who made moon-faces at the dragon-lady." Cormac rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad. We just have to deliver the amulet to the top of the mountain, and the Daleswoman to the city."

"Well," said Carver loudly, talking over his brothers and eyeing a crestfallen Merrill. "Sundermount is... very mountainous today, isn't it? Lots of... rock. And hillside."

"I'm sorry," said Merrill, gaze cutting down and to the side, "you're not really seeing the Dalish at their best." She picked at her fingernails. "We're good people who look out for each other. Just not today, apparently."

"I remember," said Cormac, and Artie nodded. "Maybe it was just because we were young and stupid, but your clanmates weren't nearly this guarded."

"It's probably because we're older and stupid," Artemis suggested. "And armed."

"It's more than that," murmured Merrill. "After the Blight and Tamlen... well, let's just say that the clan's been through a lot."

Artemis wondered if he'd get a chance to ask Theron about it. Then again, he wasn't sure if he could look Theron in the eye after last night. Or look him in the anything.

 

On their way up the mountain, Fenris hacked his way through spiders. And demons. 

"Demons," he growled, sword swinging through a shade. "Mages and demons. In a cave. This is your idea of 'fresh air'?"

"The demons are as much of a surprise to me," Artemis replied, shaking his head. He made a fist, and another shade slammed into the ground. He caught Merrill throwing a spell at another shade and was grateful that Fenris had his back to her. 

"On the contrary," said Anders, "that's why we're here! Demons and mages, congregating just to piss you off!"

Fenris growled, hefting his sword.

"Boys, play nice," said Artie with a weak smile. "Anders, don't poke the elf with the pointy sword. And yes, Izzy, I know there's a joke in there about poking. Stop smirking like that."

"I didn't say a word," Isabela singsonged, winking at Merrill.

The top of the mountain saw their way barred by a magic barrier, blue and shimmery and reminiscent of Cormac's shield bubble.

"Huh." Artie exchanged a look with Cormac, who shrugged.

"I know how to make the shields," Cormac said, "not how to get rid of them. Try throwing Carver at it, and see what happens!"

Carver glared, looking like he was ready to throw  _Cormac_ against it.

"I can open the way forward," Merrill said, pushing past the brothers. "One moment."

Artemis had a bad feeling the moment she drew out a knife, his gaze darting towards an already tightly-wound Fenris. Merrill drew the blade across her palm, face pinched but stoic. The air rippled with magic as her blood fell, and the barrier shimmered and dissipated.

"Blood magic," Anders noted, disappointment heavy in his voice.

Next to him, Fenris all but quivered with rage. 

"Yes, it was blood magic," Merrill said, squaring her shoulders defensively, "but I know what I'm doing. The spirit helped us, didn't it?"

"Rationalise it how you want," Fenris snapped, "but you summoned a demon! Mage!" He pointed at Merrill. "Mage!" And at Anders. "Mage!" And at Cormac.

"Mage?" Artemis said with a shrug, pointing at himself.

"Mages! I did not flee Tevinter to surround myself with  _more_ mages! Especially not  _blood mages_! You're all the same!" Swearing in Tevene, he stormed back into the cave, his shoulders a rigid line.

Cormac and Anders exchanged glances, while Artemis flailed helplessly. "I'll just..." said Artie. "I'll be right back. Hold that thought." 

He darted into the cave after Fenris, half-expecting him to be gone, but the elf was pacing just inside, bare feet threatening to wear a rut in the stone. He paused long enough to glare at Artemis before he resumed his pacing.

"Right, so  _now_ you're outnumbered by mages," Artie said with a weak smile. And, okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to open this conversation...

The trajectory of Fenris's pacing turned, elf marching towards mage and backing him up into the cave wall. "I owe you a debt," Fenris said. "And I will pay that debt. I just need a moment. You did not need to come 'collect' me, mage." Green eyes burned into blue before turning away again, and Artemis remembered how to breathe.

"Collect...? Dammit, no. Fenris, I just followed you to make sure you were all right." He stared at the rigid line of Fenris's back, gaze tracing his outline and lingering at the dip of a slim waist. Artemis shook himself, pressing his eyelids with the fingers of one hand, fingers that then slid up to push back and twist in his hair. "I didn't invite you out here as part of your... 'debt'. Is that what you thought this was?" And he knew the meaning of the word, working for one year under Athenril. Was that the only reason why Fenris had come? "Fenris. You're not my slave or... or my indentured servant. If you're here, I want you here as a friend. You owe me nothing."

Fenris turned, his expression guarded as he searched Artie's face. Artie tried to keep his own expression as open, as honest as he could, hoping to convey with a look just how much he meant those words. Eventually, Fenris shook his head. "A slave cannot afford to have friends," he said, his stare lingering somewhere around Artie's collarbone, not quite meeting his eyes.

Artemis changed tack. "Maybe, but an ex-slave can't afford not to."

Fenris tilted his head, finally looking up.

"You seem to think Danarius is coming for you," Artemis said, folding his arms. "If he does, do you want to face him alone?"

Fenris's gaze cut down and to the side. "I..."

"Well, you won't have to. I'll help you. And I'll help you because I  _want_ to, not because I want anything from you. I'll still help you even if you leave right now and walk back to Kirkwall on your own. I'll help you no matter how many times you call me 'mage' like it's some sort of swear-word. And I'd help you even if I didn't like you, which... is not the case." He cleared his throat and scratched at his arm. "Anyway, I just... I just think your life should be yours, and that this whole... thing is unfair." He gestured helplessly. "Am I making any sense? I'm not making any sense, am I."

"You are. Mostly." And Fenris didn't seem to know what to do with that. A mage, helping him. A mage,  _wanting to_. "I don't approve of blood magic," he warned.

"Neither do I." Which was technically true, since Artemis didn't care about blood magic one way or another. Any other kind of magic was no less dangerous in his mind. "I can tell you no one in my family practises blood magic, at least not to my knowledge. Not much I can do about Merrill, though."

A sound rumbled in Fenris's throat, not quite a growl and not quite a hum of agreement.

"Anyway, you... said you needed a moment. I'll be outside. We'll be outside. Stay or go as you please. Just... watch out for demons, yes?" If nothing else, Artie hoped Fenris stayed with the group for his own safety. He offered Fenris another tight, awkward smile and ducked back out into the sun.

"Did your boyfriend dump you?" Carver asked, seeing Artemis leave the cave alone.

"Oh, sit on a pitchfork, Carver."

Merrill looked between the brothers, and Artemis gestured for her to continue. Fenris would catch up with them if he wanted to. Artie kept glancing back at the cave regardless, hoping to see the spiky elf come stalking towards them.

Merrill had barely turned back to the now-open path when Fenris came stomping out of the cave, all scowls and bowed shoulders. He pushed past Artie, past Carver and Merrill, through the newly-opened passage.

"Well?" he paused to growl over his shoulder. "Are we going or not?" One ear twitched when he looked at Artemis.

A smile pulled at Artie's lips.

"Be careful up ahead," said Merrill. "Restless things prowl the heights."

 

Artemis supposed 'restless things' was one way to describe undead and demons popping out of the earth. Under the clang of metal on bone, the sear of magic, Artie could hear Fenris muttering, leaving Artemis to wonder what nasty names the elf had come up for him in Tevene. As long as Fenris was there, fighting beside him, he could call Artie whatever he wanted.

A shambling skeleton swung at Artemis from the side, and he let it, trusting Cormac's shield to catch the blow as he focused on the shade hassling Carver. Force sucked the shade into the ground, and its long claws tore at the earth as it shrieked.

He turned to deal with the skeleton to find Fenris standing over its bones. "Oh. Thank you." He wanted to tell Fenris to watch his bare feet, stepping among bone shards like that.

"You shouldn't rely on shields," Fenris grunted as he took up a defensive stance next to Artemis. With the way his gauntlets flexed around the hilt of his sword, Artemis wasn't sure if that was helpful or distracting.

"Why not?" he said. "You rely on your sword."

Fenris gave him a flat look and tore out a corpse's spine with one glowing hand.

Artemis swallowed, one hand ghosting over his throat. He remembered that same glowing hand wrapped around it. "That's disgusting, but point taken." 

"My sword is a tool. I use it. But I don't rely on it." Fenris carelesslly tossed the spine aside. Artemis had to wonder what was wrong with him that he still found himself thinking of Fenris's  _other_ sword.

Artie shook himself and focused on the battle. He'd started casting again, pulling more of the creatures away from Carver and Merrill, when an Arcane Horror clawed its way out of the ground just to the side of them. Fenris gave Artemis a wicked smirk as he hefted his sword again and darted after it. Artemis may have flubbed his spell.

" _Artie!_ "

"Shit! Sorry, Carver!" He tore off the end of the spell, and it snapped back, stinging between the eyes and making his vision grey a bit, but instead of throwing Carver off the cliff he pushed him into Merrill. The walking corpse next to them had been less lucky, thankfully.

Carver's hands fluttered around Merrill, trying to steady her but not sure where to land. Artie looked around, but Cormac, Fenris, and Izzy were just finishing off the Arcane Horror. 

Anders leaned into Artemis. "You know," he said out of the corner of his mouth, "your aim might be better if you were actually looking at the target instead of the glowy elf. Just a thought."

Artemis's cheeks burned hard enough to hurt. "No idea what you're talking about. Nope." He darted a look at Fenris, but the elf was out of earshot.

Stepping over the corpses of the long-dead, they approached the ruined altar overlooking the cliff. Merrill placed the amulet the witch had given them on the altar and murmured a few words in Elvish, her voice almost hypnotic in its cadence. Magic charged the air, made the hairs on the back of Artie's neck stand on end, and wind buffeted them on all sides. Out of the corner of his eye, Artemis thought he saw the arc of a dragon wing curling around them, but the sight on the altar, the sight of a woman  _stepping out of_ the amulet drew his full attention.

The wind died down, fluttering the feathers on the witch's shoulders.

"What the actual fuck?" he muttered to his nearest brother. "Is that the dragon-lady? That's the dragon-lady." 

"See, I told Anton he should have come," Cormac whispered back. 

"Anton would have hit on her and gotten thrown off the cliff. I think he made the right call. "

"Ah," sighed the witch, eyes crinkled in the barest smile as she caught sight of the Hawkes, "and here we are."

On the other side of Artemis, Fenris bristled, gauntlets creaking as he clutched his sword. "A witch," he hissed.

Artie started to put a hand on his arm, only to think better of it. "It's all right. We know this one. She hasn't tried to eat us yet or turn anyone into a toad."

Merrill dipped into a bow, speaking more Elvish in that musical, reverent tone, and addressing her as 'Asha'belannar'.

"One of the People, I see," said the witch, eyeing her, "so young and bright. Do you know who I am beyond that title?"

"I know only a little," said Merrill, head still bowed.

"Then stand. The People bend their knee too quickly." She gestured for Merrill to rise. Turning back to the Hawkes, she smiled. "So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant's pocket."

"No one wanted to buy it," Cormac said with a shrug. "Maybe because it had a witch inside." He didn't mention that Anton had gambled it once or twice.

"Just a piece," she said. "A small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has."

Fenris still gripped his sword tightly, but his head tilted in curiosity. "You are no simple witch," he said.

"Figured that out yourself, did you?" the witch drawled.

"I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations," Fenris continued, eyes narrowed, "but you are none of those things. What are you?"

"Such a curious lad," Flemeth murmured. "The chains are broken, but are you truly free?"

Artemis watched Fenris, saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. "You see a great deal," Fenris replied, his face otherwise carefully blank.

"As to what I am," said Flemeth, "I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that, you need not know."

 

"A witch," Fenris muttered, eyes still wide and dazed. He walked beside Artemis down the mountain, casting a glance back every now and then, not realising they'd fallen into step with one another. "A witch who springs out of an amulet and turns into a dragon. Venhedis." One ear gave the barest twitch. "Having you as a... friend. It's not going to be boring, is it?"

Artie grinned and slung an arm around Fenris's spiky shoulders. He felt the elf stiffen, only to relax into the touch before Artemis could pull his arm back. "The Hawkes are many things, Fen, but boring is not one of them."

Fenris shot him a long-suffering look, but the barest smile touched his lips. "How many Hawkes are there, again?"

"Too many," Carver mumbled, throwing a glare at Cormac, who had a hand a little south of Anders's waist.

"Careful, Carver," Artemis teased. "We're only halfway down the mountain. Still plenty of time to hurl you off a cliff."

"Hanged Man when we get back?" Isabela suggested, interrupting Carver's huffy response. She jingled a pouch of coins. "Drinks are on Carver!"

Carver patted his belt for his money pouch. "Hey!"

"We have to introduce our kitten here to Kirkwall the proper way," Isabela said, twisting the pouch out of Carver's reach. "And that means Corff's 'special' brew!" Merrill giggled, taking the pouch from Isabela and tossing it to Anders as Carver flailed after it. Anders held it up over everyone's heads.

"Hanged Man," Cormac agreed, grinning and throwing up a shield around Anders when Carver made as though to tackle him. "And while we're there, Messeres Merrill and Fenris, I'd like to talk to you about an expedition my brothers and I are planning..."

Carver groaned. "Are you still on about that? And will you tell your beanpole to give me back my coinpurse?"

"Just for that," Anders sniffed, "the 'beanpole' is keeping the coinpurse."

Fenris glanced at the man with an arm still around his shoulders, wondering if it was too late to back out of this 'friendship'. " _Mages_."


End file.
